artfulequivocator:

    Hook, line, and sinker.

    Of course the man is curious, perhaps even a little doubtful. Danny had been vague
    enough about his business with Connolly that anyone with two brain cells to rub
    together would have been curious about it.

    Removing his sunglasses, he folds them and sets them on the table next to his
    cigarette packet and lighter. They would have provided a nice barrier for an
    inquisitive gaze, but he doesn’t need them right now. People are more likely to
    believe you when they can actually see into your eyes.

    ❝I’m sure you’re curious, but I’m actually kinda busy here.❞

    He’s not, but he doesn’t want to make it too obvious that he needs to get this guy
    on his side. 

    ❝There is somethin’ I’m curious about though.
       You wanna know what I’m doin’, why I’m interested in your boss, tha’s fine.
       I get that.
       But you don’t even introduce y’self properly?
       Well, that jus’ comes across as rude t’me, mate.
       You know my name—❞

    He doesn’t.

    ❝—yet I dunno yours.❞

           Cue painful grade school flashback:

                                   ' Natalie Madison. '
                                                    ' Here. '
                                    ' Timothy Gordon. '
                                                    ' Here. '
                                    ' Finley Freeman? '
                                       ' --- It's Michael. '

He almost winces. God.
He hates his name almost
as much as he hates cats.
And those pieces of lint that
always stick to his shirts
when he pulls them out of the dryer.

     ’ It’s Michael. ’

     Finley—  ’ Michael Freeman. ’
                    ’ Now that we’re on a first name basis—-’

                   He glances at the manilla envelope just inches
                   from his hands folded on the glass table.

                 ’ Go on. ’